


Selfie

by sakuramacaron



Category: ACCA13区監察課 | ACCA 13-ku Kansatsuka
Genre: Age Difference, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:21:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28158984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuramacaron/pseuds/sakuramacaron
Summary: [...] sometimes a photograph isn't simply a moment that has been captured by a photographer: it can speak just as much about the person behind the lens.
Relationships: Nino/Jean Otus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Selfie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jessenigma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessenigma/gifts).



Mr. Wind had said that sometimes a photograph isn't simply a moment that has been captured by a photographer: it can speak just as much about the person behind the lens. Nino agrees with his photography teacher to a certain extent, except he sure as hell can't see himself in the ones he took spying on Jean. High school (round two) was a job, something he did out of love for the dad he’d follow to the ends of the earth, and a responsibility he fully assumed when his dad could no longer continue. It was something that had to be done. The only consideration the task required was what photos and recounts of everyday events would please His Majesty. 

He doesn’t keep much of his work, though a few of his early (and worst) pieces remain: out of focus; over exposed; under exposed; too close up; each one useless for any report. Even if they can't be clearly seen, he remembers each moment: In a photo washed out by an excess of sunlight, he can see Jean above him, curled up in the branches of the tree. He was sneaking in a nap. Just breaths later, a teacher found him and he came crashing down. 

He recalls traces of a smile in the dark, on the night of a meteor shower. Jean had been even more withdrawn than usual in the weeks since their parents died, but they had to write about it for homework. He convinced Jean to take Lotta along. Watching her gaze up at the shooting stars, gasping in wonder, provided reassurance that everything would be alright. 

In the blurry closeup of Jean’s eye and half of his hand, he hears Jean’s growl of frustration. It was his own fault for cornering him right after yet another girl he liked had asked him to be her love letter courier, and so it was only fair that he allowed his subject to catch him. He even allowed Jean to take revenge in the form of a photo of him—his “let's see how you like it” moment— clumsy as the others he'd hung onto. When Jean wanted a copy, his father dragged him out to retake it in the exact same spot, so The Prince could have a proper memento. Jean didn't comment on the difference in quality, content to keep it without explaining why he wanted it in the first place. Nino didn’t ask. It was better if he didn’t know what Jean thought of him.

Not that he hadn’t grown attached. After thirty years of documenting nearly every move, providing comfort and encouragement, life without the Otus siblings would be impossible. He’d crossed the professional and personal lines enough to know his interest in Jean’s life and well-being wasn’t just a patriotic duty, or because of his dad, or his job. And now that his assignment is over, he’ll fill whatever role Jean wants. It’s easier than considering his own desires. 

He's comfortable with the routine, and as he looks at the only clear(ish) photo in the set, shoulder to shoulder with Jean, all smiles, it’s easy to accept that they are friends. The selfie commemorated the last day of their first school year together: Long before smartphones, and whenever the kids came up with that word. For some reason, Jean has asked him to bring it tonight, so he pockets it and heads out the door. As he passes the window of one of his (and Lotta’s) favorite bakeries, a dark chocolate cake covered in a rich chocolate ganache catches his eye. They had just set it on the counter: each slice is topped with a truffle, the crumb looks moist and dense. A textbook example of decadence; even the harsh fluorescent light can’t detract from the front cover-worthy way it glistens. After sending Jean a text, he lines up to get a slice for Lotta. 

He finds Jean at their usual spot with a beer already waiting for him, though he’s got a soda for himself. He isn’t sure if he should be concerned. 

"Not in the mood to drink tonight?" he asks. 

"Didn’t feel like getting drunk,” Jean clarifies with an easy shrug, adding, "Though, if you stood me up, I would’ve."

"Don’t give me that, Jean. I texted you about this," he acknowledges the joke with a chuckle. If he’s got his humor, there is probably nothing to be worried about. Out of habit and for his own peace of mind, he still does a visual sweep of the room for anything or anyone suspicious. He takes his seat when he’s satisfied, sliding over the cake box. His friend regards it with only a slight glance, immediately dismissive of its existence the instant he recognizes the logo on the sticker. 

"It's chocolate, isn't it?," he questions, eyes narrowed. He already knows the answer, given the trace of petulance in his tone. A potential new battle in the ongoing “Chocolate versus Strawberry” war seems like a perfect time to redirect the conversation. He offers Jean the photograph, which he studies with a soft but distant expression. The gears turn in his head, words balanced on the tip of his tongue. Nino waits, patiently sipping his beer until Jean works up the nerve to push them over the edge: "Can we take another picture together? Like this one." 

Jean's sudden bout of nostalgia has Nino hunting for any hint of a drunk flush. On instinct, he reaches for Jean’s glass, to check if he’d been given alcohol by mistake. He’s caught mid-sniff, frozen by a dubious stare with the slightest uptick of eyebrows. As expected, it doesn't take long for Jean to put two and two together. Nino breaks eye contact as he returns the glass, unable to handle the weight of it. 

"So, is that a no?," Jean presses. 

"It's fine. Want me to take it?," he offers, unable to refuse. 

"You're the professional. Go for it," Jean replies. Before Nino can give him room, he settles in with his shoulder pressed against him. Like he belongs there. It isn’t long before Nino feels his warmth through his leather jacket, seeping into his skin. It makes his pulse quicken, but he immediately shoves that feeling down, focusing on his task. He centers the two of them in the frame. 

"Ready? One…"

"Two…"

"Three."

The moment his finger taps the shutter button, he watches Jean turn and press a kiss to his cheek. It seems to unfold in slow motion, like it’s happening to someone else, but the lingering warmth on his face is undeniable. The image on his phone is further proof: While the dim light made it impossible for the camera to properly focus, and his arm jerking in shock put them at the bottom right of the frame, his face is clearly scarlet and his smile overflows with genuine affection. If this picture is a reflection of its photographer, then what he captured isn’t someone who exists to fill the role of a friend or lover: he wants to live hopelessly and stupidly in love with Jean.

Jean remains pressed to his side as he examines the photo. Traces of smoke float on his gentle huffs of laughter, rumbling in his ears above the noise of the pub. If he had planned this from the start, then Nino understands why he’d stay sober: To eliminate any doubt that the kiss was intentional.

Jean smirks, emboldened by his success: "Wow, that’s pretty bad. Want me to take it instead? Let's redo everything..." Eager for a repeat, his finger hovers over the trash can icon.

While Nino still doesn’t see whatever part of himself is supposed to be those old photos, he understands why he didn't throw them away, years later: However useless and flawed they are, and regardless of the circumstances that put him behind the lens, the memories linked to them had become irreplaceably precious. He couldn’t let go. And he won’t allow this new memory to be erased. Nino gently shifts his hand away from the screen, lacing their fingers together. He hears Jean's breath catch, suddenly shy, in spite of his cockiness moments before.

As the gap between them closes for the first of many kisses, Nino whispers his answer against Jean's lips: "No. It’s perfect."

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY YULETIDE 2020! WE DID IT! As soon as I read this prompt, I wanted to make the part about photographs being kept the central focus. Although I couldn't pass up the opportunity to wax poetic about chocolate cake. 
> 
> **Beta credit to follow after reveals.**


End file.
